


between the shadow and the soul

by deliarium



Category: Blue Castle - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: F/M, First Time, Implied Sexual Content, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliarium/pseuds/deliarium
Summary: Valancy and Barney's first nights in Mistawis.
Relationships: Barney Snaith/Valancy Stirling
Comments: 31
Kudos: 146
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	between the shadow and the soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WretchedArtifact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedArtifact/gifts).



It wasn't as though she knew nothing about it. As a twenty-nine year old woman who—up until very recently—had been resigned to a fate of eternal spinster-dom, and whose strict conversative upbring had been determined to shelter her from most of the "facts of life," as it were, everything Valancy knew about sex came mostly from overhearing the giggling, furtive conversations of female classmates sharing salacious bits of gossip in the schoolyard, or Olive's coy, allusive remarks regarding her anticipated marriage to Cecil. Nothing terribly explicit, all in all, but enough for Valancy to get a sense of what lay in store for most other girls her age, who brightly traded stories of beaus and courtships with a gaiety that Valancy envied, and what she—poor, pitiful, wallflower Doss—must too be deprived of. Certainly her mother never appeared to deem it useful knowledge to impart to her sole daughter, perhaps thinking that old maids need not graduate beyond the nursery tradition of babies birthed from parsley beds. And so for the longest time, Valancy's own fantasies of rendezvous with her succession of various lovers in her Blue Castle, though dramatically and vividly rendered in other aspects of romancing, became rather tame when it came down to the physical act, all suggestion of fiery passion smothered by long-entrenched feelings of shame and self-conscious embarrassment.

After she had left home to work at Roaring Abel's house, in the exhilaration of a newfound freedom to say or do nearly anything she wanted, she was caught by a sudden impulse to indulge her burning curiosity on the subject. She started reading extensively from library books that her mother would absolutely never have permitted her to read (even peeking at a few, when she felt especially brave, from Roaring Abel's collection), and allowed her mind to wander dreamily to corridors hitherto untraversed. Cissy had also demurely filled in certain blanks, on occasional evenings when they were sharing deep and heartfelt confidences and Valancy ventured forth questions to which she had never dared give voice. If Valancy were to be perfectly honest with herself, it may not have been entirely coincidence that this surge in curiosity came alongside the increasing presence of one Barney Snaith, who inspired some _very_ confusing feelings with that twisted, roguish smile of his—with the sight of him in a greased flannel shirt and muddy overalls, his sleeves hiked up to his elbows, working on repairs for Lady Jane while his long, tawny hair blew wildly and carelessly about his tanned face—with his fine, strong-looking hands that one couldn't help but imagine would be perfect for holding and caressing another body—even with the mere, innocuous act of proffering a gift of flowers and chocolates to Cissy, and watching her frail, pallid face light up with happiness. The night after he had rescued Valancy from that horrid party at Chidley Corners, she had laid awake in bed for several hours thinking only of him, flushed and wanting.

On the day of their wedding, it was no longer possible to deny to herself the simple truth that she desired him, immensely, unreservedly. But she hated the idea that he might feel bound to consummate their relationship purely from a sense of marital obligation, when he had, after all, only agreed to their marriage out of pity. She had no wish to hold him unwillingly to this expectation, and when the time came that evening, after the dinner table had been cleaned and Barney had finished lighting a great, merry, crackling fire in the hearth, she told him so, in a manner she hoped came across as cool and matter-of-fact. She even somehow managed not to blush.

Barney laughed—not the jarring, cynical laugh that always unsettled her, but a genuine howl of mirth. He rose from the living room floor to face her and take her hands in his. His hands were soft—surprisingly soft—and warm. Valancy's heart fluttered, just briefly, at the touch. "And here I was, thinking what an alluring vision my wife makes in the firelight, and how I shouldn't presume I would be fortunate enough to have my conjugal rights extend so far. Do _you_ want it, Valancy?" he asked, his voice suddenly dipping low, into that dangerously intimate tone with which he sometimes had of speaking.

Valancy abruptly felt a shiver course through her, tingling all the way to the tips of her toes. _Silly_ , she scolded herself, _you're hardly a schoolgirl, to be reacting in such a way_. Still, she was determined to make her point clear. "I do want it—you can't possibly know how much. I'm aware, however, that this is all entirely unconventional."

"Very much so," Barney agreed, gravely. "Of course, I never _was_ one for convention."

"I also won't be able to give you a child," she went on firmly, though it hurt her, somewhere deep down, to say it. "That is, I don't want to risk the chance of it, when I might not be—"

"I know, Valancy," Barney said gently, but his deep blue eyes clouded over thoughtfully for a moment. "There are some ways.....we can be careful." 

Valancy nodded, relieved. "And lastly—and most importantly—I wouldn't ever expect you to make love to me, or to pretend anything you don't feel."

"I've never made love in my life—wouldn't claim to know how," he replied with a swift casualness, turning abruptly to gaze out the window. Outside the silvery mist around the lake had lifted, revealing a backdrop of cold, shimmering stars and a softly glowing sphere. The wind was rustling pleasantly, making sweet and tranquil music against the pines; somewhere an owl was hooting sleepily in the distance. 

He turned back to her, with an insouciant gleam in his eyes. "But I've never been opposed to having a bit of fun with a pretty woman at the right hour of night. Forget that we're married for a moment, dear, and all the horribly somber and weighty considerations of that baffling institution. Let us for tonight behave as though we're merely two young and foolish, moon-crazed souls who want each other, quite desperately and madly."

Valancy leaned across and kissed him then, cupping his face in her hands—it was the first time she had ever dared to initiate a kiss, at least outside of her dreams, and she felt heady with the sheer joy and triumph of it. Barney gave a startled laugh, though not of displeasure, and pulled her close to him, his blue-eyed gaze shifting from fond to intense. "Valancy," he whispered, sending another delicious shiver down her spine (could there be any music lovelier than the way he said her name, as softly as the gentlest caress?), reaching to press his lips briefly to her hand, to the inside of her wrist, like an offering. His arms slid around her, pushing down her chemise, loosening the knot of dark hair that hung low on her neck and letting it cascade over her bare shoulders. With a thrill she ran her fingers over the reddish stubble of his freshly shaven jaw and hooked her other hand around one of the straps of his overalls, as Barney proceeded to pour hungry, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. 

For the rest of the night there was no more uncertainty, no more reserve. Valancy gave herself to him freely and rapturously, holding back nothing, with every delighted gasp and tremulous response of her body, and Barney proved to be happily commensurate in his enthusiasm. All else in the world seemed to momentarily fade away, leaving nothing save the sensation of their warm bodies pressed up against each other, Barney's voice low in her ear, his lips burning a trail of heat against her skin.

* * *

The nights afterward were nothing like what she could have prepared for or imagined. There was wondrous, unexpected joy to be had, in the mutual leisurely exploration of each other's bodies—in how it slowly became routine to collapse into bed together, still laughing, in the glorious warmth of each other's arms, or onto the large rug in front of the fireplace, after a long day of canoeing or exploring the woods. 

Valancy, who had seldom been the recipient of overt physical affection in her childhood, found herself almost overwhelmed by the sudden abundance of stimulation and touch. For Barney was exceedingly warm and tender as a lover, as well as profoundly generous; he couldn't be more different from what the gossips said about him, Valancy reflected with amusement, thinking back on all the lurid rumors of rakish debauchery she'd heard over the years. She loved how he always touched her hair with quiet admiration and wonder, how he would sing eloquent praises for the shape of her eyes, the curve of her neck, or the swell of her hip, in a way that never seemed overwrought but came across as though he had made some particularly wonderful discovery and needed to share it with the world. If she ever felt uncertain about the veracity of these utterances, she was soon reassured by the way she would sometimes catch him gazing at her with studious regard—in those small, unguarded moments when he thought her asleep—like contemplating a finely carved jewel, hidden and precious. Valancy memorized each look and compliment and held them all fiercely within her starved heart, turning them over and over when she was alone in silent, incandescent happiness. And yet he was not especially verbose, even in bed; he had a gift of communicating more than he spoke ever aloud, through an intent, meaningful expression in his eyes, or through the worshipful movement of his hands and mouth on her body.

Sometimes Barney's reactions made her wonder, too—for though it was clear he'd at least had some prior experience—making her briefly muse whether there was some truth to the multiple wives theory after all—he'd lean into Valancy's loving strokes and caresses as if he had never been touched before, like man parched for water. It was intensely gratifying to Valancy, who felt she could be happily content in the knowledge that she was able to inspire such feelings of desire and affection, if not necessarily love.

And perhaps even more wonderful were the late hours they would spend together afterwards, lying curled in each other's arms and talking idly in the bewitching interplay of shadows and firelight, Barney's comforting hand in her hair, Good Luck a grey and contentedly purring ball of fur at the foot of their bed. Barney never shared many personal recollections about his past (in fact, he was remarkably skillful at deflecting any conversation away from anything that might become too revealing), but he always had some amusing story to relay, whether it was one of his countless grand adventures in the Klondike, or some whimsical stray observation he had while hiking in the woods around Mistawis. Valancy scarcely felt more supremely happy than she was just listening to him talk at length about some subject or other, for even the most mundane topics he had a way of making surprisingly captivating. As for herself, she confided everything about the past in those late nights, dredging up old ghosts and things she'd never told another soul, all the aching loneliness and misery of her existence up until she had left home. Those memories had since been drained of their bitter poison, and she found she could now talk of them with a sense of levity and humor. Though Barney never went into detail about it, she took from his empathetic silences and some vague off-hand remarks that he knew something about loneliness himself. He must have had a rather unhappy childhood, Valancy thought, though it was difficult for her to imagine Barney as a child. She noticed that he never spoke of family, or lovers—even friends, outside of Roaring Abel. He always professed to enjoy the reputation of notoriety he'd made for himself in Deerwood—but she couldn't help but wonder if he ever felt the solitude at times. Somehow this idea made her feel closer to him, in spite of all the secrets he kept close to his chest.

In the mornings, Barney always rose early. Valancy would often awaken to him lounging by the open window, cheerfully carrying on a conversation with a chattering wood squirrel, or whistling a few notes in response to the sweet melody of a robin. Other times he would simply be sitting in a chair smoking his pipe and writing in a black notebook she saw him carrying on occasion. Valancy never asked what he was writing, but she liked to watch him surreptitiously under the covers as he scrawled line after line, looking peaceful and meditative. 

And after some time he would look up and meet her eyes, his face breaking into that warm smile that always made her heart turn over. He would cross the room and take her in his arms, whispering softly in her ear, "Good morning, Moonlight."

She belonged to him, Valancy would reflect with sleepy delight, and the only pang of regret to be had was that if only she had more time in this world, she might find a way to make him truly hers.


End file.
